Down for the Count
by Soulfully Sadistic
Summary: Riots are taking their toll on all the nations, but how exactly are America and England faring?


Now, England wasn't one to be surprised at many things. He'd raised a young America, after all, and knew all his quirks and things. He knew the way the left side of America's lip would twitch up when he saw something amusing. He knew the way America would puff his cheeks out and cover his mouth when he found something irresistibly funny and had to be serious. He knew the way America would stick the tip of his tongue out, ever so slightly, when he was concentrating.

But nothing could have prepared him for this.

America was siting directly across from him, looking down quietly, and actually seemed to be _listening_ to what China was saying. He looked thin and frail and fragile, as if he hadn't eaten in days. Every once in a while, when he thought nobody was looking, he'd bite his lip and close his eyes tightly, as if trying to will some pain away.

But England was watching. England was always watching him.

America looked up as his name was called. A collective sigh rose up around the room, as the other nations prepared themselves for an utterly ridiculous and unrealistic speech.

Quietly, with shaking hands, America slowly shuffled his papers, as if trying to stall. He stood hesitantly, moving towards the front of the room. England caught the small limp in his step. _Stupid git…_ England was beginning to worry. _He's gone and gotten himself sick_.

When he was at the front, America began to speak.

"Um, hi guys. As you all know, our economies are getting pretty bad…"

The nations held their breath, waiting for the inevitable "hero speech".

"…and there have been plenty of riots on Wall Street. This needs to stop, and I know that all of this has been ravaging on all of us." It was true. The personified group was weary and tired, and the constant disruption had done nothing to help. America, however, seemed the worst.

England watched intently as America stumbled over his words, running his hands through his hair and nervously shifting his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Canada intently watching as well.

"And there have been plenty of…no, that's not right…ravaging…" America's voice began to grow softer and softer, until his body seemed to give up and he pitched backwards against the wall, sweating and panting. "I…I think that by removing some of the power, we can—AH!"

Germany stood up. "America"—

"I'm _fine_," America gritted his teeth. He gripped his papers as if his life depended on his, his knuckles growing white. "And…and…"

He didn't get another word out before he pitched forward, breath escaping like a hiss.

Canada, who had been tense in his seat, sprang forward to catch America before he hit the ground, and sank down to the floor with him, hard.

England had barely moved. He registered all this with a shock that couldn't be matched. The strong, strong nation was now at the mercy of his economy. His exuberance and powerfulness had faded, and he was now a whimpering, sweaty mass in the hands of his older twin brother.

It seemed as if everything seemed to snap, and England pushed himself out of his seat. Canada was whimpering and crying, and Germany was issuing quick commands for everyone to give America some space. Before England even knew what he was doing, he was at once at America's side. He felt his breath hitch in his throat.

America's pale forehead glistened with sweat, and he was blushing profusely. When England moved to touch America's forehead, he could feel the heat radiating from it. His breathing was labored, and he shook with every breath he took.

And yet, the idiot had the nerve to open his eyes, ever so slightly, so that the blue shone through, and say, "Looks like the hero's down for the count, eh, England?" He gave a grim smile, that didn't even suit him.

"Oh, you bloody git…" England murmured, grabbing America's hand tightly as the nation's head lolled to the side once more his eyes closing again. Why hadn't he noticed this before? America had been unusually quiet these days—but then again, none of the nations had their usual extreme vigor. Times really were taking their toll on them.

England could only hope they weren't too late.

* * *

><p>England sat primly on the couch, one eye trained on the television and other other upon America, who was still shivering and coughing like crazy but able to coherently speak. America was wrapped up in so many blankets that only his head stuck out, as he was huddled up into a ball, leaning against England.<p>

Unfortunately, the TV only brought news of _bad_ tidings, as the riots were still going on, and the economy was _still_ pretty bad.

America broke the silence, save for the loud blaring of the television. "E-England…" he murmured. "How's your economy?' His sentence was punctuated by a body-wracking cough.

To be truthful, although it was much better than America's, his economy wasn't faring too well either. "America, you're in no position to be thinking about others right now," the shorter nation scolded sharply, bringing his hand up to move some of America's damp hair from his face.

With a heavy effort, America pushed himself into a sitting position, some blankets falling off in the process. "I wanna know if you're doing alright or not," he said defensively. "I don't want you to take care of me if you're not okay yourself."

England was taken aback, but before he could say anything else, the weak country fell back onto his shoulder, eyes closed, breathing heavily from the effort. He shook his head in disbelief. Even though he could barely move, the git was still more worried about his _caretaker_ than about himself. He looked down at the sleeping nation, and couldn't help but let out a wry, grim smile. He should have expected it.

Stupid git. Ever the hero.


End file.
